Not Tonight
by NativeStar
Summary: Dean worries about Sam, who’s doing a pretty good zombie impression. Set just after the Pilot.


**Title: **Not Tonight  
**Author: **Nativestar  
**Pairing/Character:** Dean and Sam. No pairings.  
**Disclaimer:** I own nothing. Just playing.  
**Rating:** PG-13, gen  
**Word Count:** 832 words.  
**Warnings/Spoilers:** Bring a tissue. I refuse to list the Pilot as a spoiler.  
**Author Notes: **Inspired by spnflashfic's prompt of 'ten minutes later'. I missed the deadline for that so it's now just a gift for pinkpheonix1985 who suggested I write one for the Pilot.

**Summary**: Dean worries about Sam, who's doing a pretty good zombie impression. Set just after the Pilot.

* * *

It takes ten minutes to drive to a motel.

Sam's a tight ball of rage and grief, locked in an endless battle. Dean's not sure which one is going to come out on top, grief is probably healthier but at least rage he can deal with.

Sam doesn't move when Dean gets out the car to check in, doesn't acknowledge Dean when he says he'll be back in a minute.

Dean pays cash and uses his real name for once, he knows they'll probably need to stay here for a while, the police will want to talk to Sam and it's best if he isn't staying in a room paid for by Hector Aframian.

Sam hasn't moved from the car, doesn't move until Dean opens the door.

"Come on, Sam."

Sam wordlessly follows him to the room.

This zombie impression of Sam's is starting to worry Dean, he starts thinking of things to say, something that would get a response out of Sam but nothing appropriate comes to mind. What do you say to someone who's just seen their girlfriend bleed and burn on the ceiling of their bedroom?

Dean can tell Sam's thinking, knows the far-away look in his eyes isn't entirely shock. It's the same look he'd wear when figuring out math problems. Dean's not sure exactly what Sam's thinking though. He used to be able to guess what Sam was thinking with scary accuracy, now, he's not so sure. All he knows is that none of it is going to be good.

In the room, Sam's restless, sitting on the bed before moving to the table in the corner. It feels like he's bottled a fly that's now flying against the glass, looking for a way to break free. Sam looks like he wants to hit someone and if it'll make him feel better, Dean will let him.

The stench of smoke lingers on both their bodies and clothes and Dean wants to wash it away, the smell triggering memories like no other sense can, but the hell if he's leaving Sam alone for even a few minutes.

"Here," Dean digs out a t-shirt and pair of sweatpants from his duffle and puts them on the table. "They'll be a bit short but you can wear these tonight. We'll get you some fresh clothes tomorrow."

Sam stares at the clothes blankly, like he's not sure what they're for.

"You should get some sleep, Sam." Dean pushes the clothes closer.

"What?" Sam finally looks at him and for a moment Dean's just relieved he's got a response. _He's not shutting me out._

"Try and get some sleep." Dean repeats.

Sam shakes his head as he stands. "No. No, we need to figure out what our next move is gonna be," he walks to the door, turns, and walks back to the table. It forms a circuit that he starts pacing as he continues, "That thing could still be here, we gotta move while the trail is still fresh."

Dean knows it's the lust for revenge, not rationality that's behind Sam's plan, but he too would like nothing more than to kill the son of a bitch himself and he hates that he's the one who has to shoot the idea down.

"Sam, whatever did it is probably long gone. The best you can do right now is get some rest, it's gonna be a long day tomorrow."

"No. You can rest, but I can't," Sam rubs his fingers into his red-rimmed eyes, "where's Dad's journal, Dean? Maybe there's something in there. This is what happened to Mom, right? There's gotta be something in there."

"Sam, we're not gonna figure out in one night what Dad hasn't done for over two decades." Dean says calmly, aware that what he's saying isn't what Sam wants to hear.

"Dean! That thing killed Jess, we can't just sit here!" Sam's eyes are begging Dean to help him, and it makes Dean feel like a traitor.

"We're not going to! We'll figure this out, Sam, but we can't go off half-cocked."

Quickly, like a switch has been flipped, the fight goes out of Sam. He stops pacing, and there's defeat in his shoulders as he sighs shakily. Dean's not sure why Sam stops, he's not convinced his words got through to him, but he decides it doesn't really matter, not right now.

"I need to do something," Sam says, and the force behind his words has gone, "I can't-- I can't--"

Dean steps forward, resting his hand on Sam's shoulder. "I know, Sammy."

"She's gone, Dean." Sam looks at him, and Dean hasn't seen pain like that for twenty-two years. He hadn't known what to do then, and he doesn't now, but Sam's looking to his big brother like Dean can fix this, so he has to do something.

"I know, Sammy."

He wraps his arms around his brother as Sam's knees buckle, and holds him.

Holds him until the dark fades to light.

* * *

Reviews are always appreciated. I'd love to hear what you liked and what you thought could be improved.


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